


An Adjustment Period

by iwasnthere622



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:58:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasnthere622/pseuds/iwasnthere622
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series directly following the season 9 finale, "Do You Believe In Miracles?", focusing on demon!Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

Everything hurts. And yet… nothing hurts. Not really.

Dean opens his eyes and he feels… wrong. Something is wrong. Because he should be dead, he should be in agonizing pain, but his body only hurts when he thinks that it should hurt and if he doesn’t think about it, he stops breathing. But he stays alive.

His fingers tighten on the First Blade, that sense of rightness filling him, easing his confusion. His blade, his weapon, an extension of himself, righteous rage to rid the world of evil, he must kill Metatron, save humanity, protect Sammy, where was Sam?

"Easy there, Squirrel. You’ll hurt yourself with all that thinking," Crowley says, amused but also wary, knowing he has to play this just right.

Dean sits up, movements fast and sure and that shouldn’t be, glaring at the King of Hell, grip tightening further on the Blade. “Where’s Sam?”

"As I was telling you… Moose is summoning me to save you. But you seem just fine. How do you feel? Strong? Unstoppable?" Crowley asked carefully. "I suspected this, of course, but I never thought it’d actually happen.”

“What happened?” Dean growled, out of patience and the Blade feels so good in his grip, all he has to do is move and he could sink it into flesh, kill Crowley, another demon gone, King of Hell, evil…

"I think I will answer that summons now," Crowley said, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Dean shoots out of bed but he’s not fast enough, growling and looking around his room in the bunker. How did he get here? What happened? Metatron… Metatron had stabbed him. He’d been dying… No. He had died.

He moved to leave the room, look for Sam, but he caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror and he paused, shock flooding his system along with dread.

No. No, no, nonono. Not this. Anything but this.

The eyes that stared back at him were black. Demon’s eyes. His greatest fear, realized.

He was a demon.

Well, that explained the non-death and injuries that didn’t matter. Why? The Mark…? This is what he’d become? Forty years with Alistair in Hell and he’d avoided this, and now a handful of months with the Mark and he was a full-on demon?

He turned, slipping into his fighting stance, First Blade poised to strike as Sam skidded to the doorway.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, hope and fear in his voice. He sounded so… fragile. "Crowley said… the Mark, it… Are you…?"

Dean straightened slowly, forcing himself to relax, it was just Sam, glancing into the mirror again and seeing his green eyes staring back at him (Mom’s eyes).

"Heya Sammy. I look amazing for being dead, huh?" Dean grinned.


	2. Staying

"You’re still you, Dean, we’ll fix this," Sam promised.

"I’m a fucking demon, Sam!” Dean yelled, hand tugging at his hair just to feel something, not noticing the furniture rising a few inches off the ground around him before falling back down. ”I’m what we hunt!” I don’t want to hurt you.

"Shut the hell up! So what? So what, huh? Garth is a werewolf and he’s alive and married and happy! Hell, you didn’t fucking kill me when I…” Sam shook his head. “If I wasn’t a monster, if that wasn’t all my fault, if we could fix that… we can fix this.”

"Sammy…" Dean said, torn, hating himself and this urge to kill. Everything was different.

But maybe… maybe some things stay the same. “Okay. Okay, Sam.” I trust you.

Sam exhaled slowly. “We’ve got the cure,” he reminded Dean. “We just need a way to deal with the Mark, too.”

"I’m not jacking up on your blood if it kills you," Dean growled.

"So we won’t go all the way, Crowley was pretty human at the end… We’ll figure it out, just give me time. Us time,” Sam implored.

"I said okay," Dean sighed. "But I’m gonna go crazy here. And Crowley said the Mark’ll make me… sick, if I don’t hunt." Kill, he needed to kill, could feel the Blade calling to him, senses clearer, body stronger, he could take out anyone…

"So we’ll get you hunts until we figure this out. We’ll control it. You can do this, Dean," Sam said, believing in his big brother.

Dean nodded once. Crowley wanted him to go experience being a demon, let himself go off the leash, but nausea clutched him at just the thought of… of embracing what he’d become. No, no he didn’t want this. So he’d stay with Sam. Sam would keep him human enough until they could fix this.


	3. Boredom

Dean couldn’t sleep.

After target practice, working out in their home gym, and researching with Sam — not to mention coming back from the dead as a demon — you’d think he could use some rest.

Nope.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sleep, part of him afraid he’d never sleep again, tormented with waking nightmares of Hell and what he’d become…

He got out of bed because that was just useless, turning on the little TV set and doing push-ups, forcing himself to let Sam rest. He was human, he still needed sleep.

"Sam! Hey, Sam, look!" Dean said, glad to not be alone with his thoughts anymore, interrupting Sam’s morning coffee to show him that he could blink his eyes black and back to green at will.

"Insta-shades," he grinned goofily, trying to make his little brother smile, trying to pretend this was okay and that he didn’t wanna grab the First Blade, his hands only shaking a little.

Sam couldn’t help but smile a little at his idiot of a brother. “Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled into his coffee.

The long night had been worth it just for this moment of normalcy. “C’mon, I’m bored! Let’s do something,” Dean whined.

He should’ve known his nerdy little brother would pick research. Oh well. It was important, and the need wasn’t that bad yet. He pretended to read while trying to get just one eye to change at a time, recognizing the feeling now of letting the demon rise to the surface and sink back down.

And it only took him a few more hours to not only master that, but drive Sam crazy with his complaints of boredom and being unable to even sleep the time away, bickering like the old married couple Bobby’d often called them.


	4. Trapped

Dean was bored, wandering around the bunker, eyes idly flicking between black and green, looking for some scroll Sam wanted but not having much luck finding it... Man were the Men of Letter pack-rats, there had to be thousands of boxes packed with junk in here.

He wasn't paying much attention to where he was walking, body jerking with his next step forward, motion halted, electricity zipping up his spine. What the hell? He tried to step forward and couldn't, staring down at the floor, kicking up the corner of the rug he was standing on and...

Fuck.

A devil's trap. And he was fucking stuck in it.

He paced the edges. Two steps forward, half a step and zap, he was stopped, palms getting mildly singed when he tried to press his hands forward.

This was fucking stupid. Lilith snapped her fingers and traps vanished, Alistair needed a supped up one to hold him, and Dean gets stuck in the garden variety version?

Part of his mind whispered that Crowley got stuck in the garden variety version, too, but another, louder part of him was screaming that Crowley was a salesman before he was King and Dean was marked by Cain, he should be stronger. He was stronger.

He growled, hands shaking, eyes black as an invisible wind knocked boxes over, the rug flying away, glaring at the floor and the trap. Fuck. Fuck!

The shelving shook and his hand shot out as the First Blade came soaring to him, a sense of rightness flooding him as soon as he grasped the handle, the shaking doubling in the room, tripling. He was Dean fucking Winchester, some spray paint on the floor couldn't control him!

When Sam came rushing in 10 minutes later, the shelves had collapsed, books and papers strewn everywhere, and Dean was sitting pouting on the floor, half covered in debris, sparks flying up from where he was stubbornly trying and failing to chip the trap away with the First Blade.

He sulked for the rest of the day when Sam broke the trap with his pocketknife in two seconds flat.


	5. Water, Water Everywhere...

Dean's hands were shaking more, fine tremors that were a physical reminder of the need he felt...

Sam wanted to keep looking, not go out yet, "You're not ready yet, Dean," but god, he was gonna go crazy in here.

At night, when Sammy slept, Dean stroked the First Blade and imagined, craving blood and pain and death in ways that made his blood boil with want and his stomach toss with nausea. He was a monster.

So he turned to his good old friend Jack to dull the sensations and when he ran out of that, headed to the kitchen for some beers.

He opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle and popping it right there on the counter, taking a greedy sip only to sputter and choke, bottle slipping from his fingers as they clawed at his throat. Glass shattered on the floor and he hissed, jumping back, ankles burning now, too.

His eyes were black, demonic nature growling in angry pain, spitting out beer and blood and fucking holy water, having accidentally grabbed one of the bottles they kept laced with holy water as a test for visitors -- a habit they'd picked up from Bobby, not that they had anyone left to visit anymore.

He glanced at his smoking ankles, skin red and steaming, grabbing another bottle and paying more attention this time, popping it and downing half of it in one go, the burning slowly fading.

Holy water. Fuck. Pissed at the world and at himself, he stormed back to his room with a few more bottles in his arms. Screw beer, he was going for the Men of Letter's whiskey and scotch stash.


	6. Summoned

Dean couldn't take it anymore. He needed air. He needed to see someone besides his brother, be somewhere besides the bunker, raise a little hell...

He scowled at that thought, shoving his boots on a little more harshly than necessary, staring longingly at the First Blade before tucking it into the back of his jeans.

Just in case, he promised himself somewhat guiltily, hearing Sam telling him he could fight this addiction, wishing he had half the strength Sam credited him with.

As quiet as possible, he snuck out of his room, creeping through the bunker and up the stairs to the door, easing it open and then at last he was outside, breathing in the fresh air, the bunker behind him.

He started walking at a fast clip, the walk turning into a jog, turning into a full-blown run. He didn't get tired, didn't need to huff for breath, making it easily into the closest town and continuing on, wanting some distance. Just in case, he mentally repeated, the First Blade a comfort at the small of his back.

Eventually he made it to a dive of a place, the itch to kill, to hurt, stirring in him as he took in the other bar patrons, but that urge was squashed and replaced with another when a pretty little thing sauntered up to him.

"Well, hey there," he grinned, leaning back against the bar and ordering a double shot of whiskey, giving the chick a once over. Mm, very nice.

By his third drink, he had her on his lap and they were making out and his bloodlust was completely converted to physical lust, standing up and grabbing her hand, intending on giving her the fuck of her life in the bathroom at the back when he suddenly doubled over, clutching his gut.

Ow, what the fuck was that, his head spinning, vision narrowing, stomach feeling like it was getting crushed and then as fast as it'd come, the pressure and pain was gone.

Except... the floor was different, the worn and stained wood of the bar replaced with concrete that was familiar, it silent now, the warmth of the girl missing from his side.

Slowly, Dean stood and stared into the eyes of his brother, standing in the middle of a devil's trap, the bowl of summoning ingredients still smoking.

"I woke up and you were gone," Sam said, tone accusing.

"Ever heard of a fucking cell phone?" Dean scowled, bloodlust flooding him once more, skin tight with anger, the First Blade seeming to pulse at his back, calling out to him.

"You left it here!" Sam yelled. "I was worried, okay?"

Dean was slightly mollified at that, kicking at the trap because Sam hadn't needed it to do the summoning, which meant... he wasn't sure what he was summoning back. Sammy...

"M'sorry," Dean said gruffly. "Lemme outta this thing."

When Sam just studied him, he huffed, "I didn't kill anyone, dammit, I was this close to getting laid and you ruined that."

"Sorry," Sam said, his sheepish little brother once more, scraping at the trap. 

"You owe me one next hunt we take," Dean said, jabbing his finger into Sam's chest before walking out of the devil's trap and slinging his arm over his shoulder. "Let's find a good one."

Sam rolled his eyes, but his relief was palpable. "Sure, Dean."


	7. The Dividing Line

Finally. Sam was finally letting them leave the bunker, heading out on a hunt that sounded like a classic salt and burn, just to see how it went.

Dean didn't care for the whys, he was just happy to be behind the wheel of his baby again, flying down the highways.

It was almost enough like old times that he could forget, for just a little while. Just him and his brother and the roar of the engine.

And he wasn't about to let Sam forget that he owed him a night out (or in, as the case may be) with a chick, either.

Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

Ten hours later, he gave in to Sam's whining and they stopped for the night, grabbed some more fast food and set up camp in a motel room and this was normal, too.

Until Sam laid down salt lines at the door and windows and Dean suddenly felt trapped.

"That really, ah, necessary?" he asked his brother. "I'll protect ya, Sammy, you know that."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, Dean, but we're here hunting a ghost. It'd be stupid not to lay down lines."

"Then let me out, I'll explore the town," Dean said, trying very hard to ignore the hint of a whine in his voice.

"Not alone," Sam said, voice hardened. He saw how Dean stroked the First Blade, and while he trusted his brother, sometimes Dean wasn't Dean.

"Sam," Dean growled, eyes black, the furniture rattling.

"Just proving my point, man," Sam said, nodding at the blade in Dean's hand.

Since Dean couldn't remember reaching for the First Blade, he gave in, stalking to his bed and collapsing onto it. "You owe me double."

"We'll find you twins," Sam promised with a wry smile.

Dean waited until Sam was asleep before trying to break through the lines, but like the stupid devil's trap it seemed the simplest things now held sway over him. Disgusted with himself, he borrowed Sammy's laptop for some nighttime perusal's until sleeping beauty woke up.


	8. Don't Play with Magic Knives

Sam wasn't fun anymore, all work work work and no play -- he still hadn't gotten Dean his night of twins, thank you very much.

So when Sammy slept, Dean played. Mostly due to boredom, but curiosity played a factor as well. 

He didn't have any other demon powers (yet) beyond the whole black eyes thing and he'd pretty much mastered that, so he 'borrowed' Ruby's knife from Sam. Just to see.

He twirled the blade expertly through his fingers, staring at the sigils carved into it, the magic that made it work. Hurt demons. Kill them.

Well, not all of them, he reminded himself. Alistair and Lilith had laughed it off, and they were arguably the biggest of Hell's baddies he'd met (not counting the fallen Morning Star rotting away in his cage).

And regular demons could be tortured with it, so it wasn't like he'd accidentally kill himself if his fingers just... slipped...

Temptation too great -- human Dean had impulse problems, so demon Dean had even worse (if any) control -- he purposefully missed the next flip of the blade, letting it cut into his finger.

He hissed, knife clattering to the table, eyes black as he popped his smarting digit into his mouth to suck on, staring thoughtfully at the blade.

How did it work? Why did it work? He was the new Cain! He had the Mark, the First Blade!

His eyes narrowed, turning back to his usual greens as he resumed flipping the blade through his fingers in thought, more determined now to get stronger, a firm grasp of control on this whole demon thing.

You could bet your ass that while human Dean had been the best hunter on the planet, demon Dean would be the best demon in Hell.


	9. Metallic Poison

Dean didn't even realize the sky was lightening, still lost in his thoughts, trying to understand himself, grasp his demonic side. Even the lowest demons had telekinesis and some had freaky powers, was the ability to use the First Blade really all he'd gotten...?

At the sounds of Sam stirring, he blinked his eyes green, glancing to the bed and grinning at his little brother all tangled in the bed sheets, feet hanging off the mattress. Sasquatch.

They'd go on the hunt today and that was good because his veins itched for some violence, to sink his Blade into warm flesh.

"Morning, Sammy," he grinned, grin fading as he watched Sam sit up and look around, licking his lips in a way that was too predatory and stirred something - dread? - in Dean's chest.

He watched Sam's eyes zero in on his hand where he was still absently flipping Ruby's knife between his fingers, having nicked himself now and then.

Oh. Oh. Shit.

Dean dropped the knife, pressing his hand to his shirt and dabbing at the cuts to get them to clot, recognizing this fear in his gut; Sam had the look he'd gotten around Ruby, his addict look, something dark shadowing his features.

Sam licked his lips again, hands fisted in bedding. "Dean..."

"Breakfast in ten minutes, change and we're out," Dean said firmly, no nonsense and in charge, standing up to start grabbing bags. He'd be more careful, didn't want to tempt Sam.

Sam wasn't the one who was the monster here and soul or no soul Dean would keep it that way.


	10. Hold the Salt

Dean talked and talked and talked, filling the silence and trying to make everything normal, trying to ignore the wisp of fear lingering in his gut, trying not to notice how Sam's eyes flickered to Dean's small cuts on his hands now and then, trying to pretend his brother was just licking up spilled dressing from his salad and not thinking about eating -- or drinking -- something else.

Dammit.

Dean had wiped Ruby's knife clean and then some before returning it to his brother, getting them out of that motel room and the lingering smell of his (demon) blood in the air.

They'd gone to the site of the haunting and that had been okay, because they were a team and on a hunt and it hadn't been nearly satisfying enough for Dean, only getting to swipe at the apparition twice before Sam had it exorcised.

It hadn't even scratched the surface of his craving for violence, the itch in his palms for the First Blade to do some damage, and Sam was still eyeing him partly like his own personal milkshake, and today fucking sucked, okay?

He grinned at the waitress when she set down his burger and fries, talking to Sam about the haunt and ghosts over the years and nonsense to fill the void, as if they could just ignore everything as long as Dean kept talking.

Dean grabbed a fry and popped it into his mouth, immediately choking.

"Dean?" Sam asked, worry for his brother distracting him more than Dean's inane posturing and prattle ever could.

Dean coughed, a bit of blood spattering his plate along with chunks of half-chewed fry, taking a large drink and rubbing his stinging throat, glaring at his plate. "Forgot to hold the salt," he said, pissed at himself and at the world.

Sam tried not to laugh, rolling his eyes. "Ruby ate fries all the time," he said matter-of-factly.

Dean directed his glare at his little brother. If that bitch could handle the kick, so could he! Determined, he picked up another fry, chewing quickly and coughing but forcing the damn thing down.

Sam chuckled and shook his head, but his heart was lighter and he dug into his salad with more gusto. Demon Dean wasn't all that different from regular old stubborn Dean after all.


	11. Barred

They are back in the Bunker from the hunt, Sam buried in research and Dean’s stomach in painful knots, body demanding he kill something.

His hands shook, fine tremors just out of his control, and the First Blade had never felt so right in his hands.

Feeling guilty and like the monster that he was, Dean snuck out the second night back, slinking away in the darkness.

He just… needed…

And if he found a demon, or some other thing, he’d be saving people right? …Right?

He had to search almost all night until finally, four towns over, he found a back alley where a vampire was closing in on a scared teenager way out of his league.

"Hey, bitch," Dean grinned, eyes black in the moonlight, paying no mind to the terrified kid fleeing past him and instead raising his arm to clothesline the vamp as it tried to run away its prey.

Faster than he’d ever been, he had the thing pinned on the ground in no time, grinning down at fangs. He toyed with it, letting it get in a few good hits, stabbing it a few times with his Blade and each time metal found flesh, his tension eased and his focus grew sharper.

Until finally he grew tired of playing and beheaded the creature with one smooth, powerful stroke.

He stood victorious over the body, feeling almost righteous as he started back for the Bunker, power humming gloriously in his veins.

The high crashed, however, when he made it back and stood barred from the Bunker, the protections keeping him from entering alone. A monster, not a hero… Blood on his clothes, his face, his Blade… What had he done?

Shamed and shaking lightly in fear of himself, he pulled out his cell, voice quiet as he called his little brother to please let him in, unable to meet Sammy’s eyes and see the disappointment he knows is there.


	12. Baby

Dean had stopped grumbling as much about the research, helping Sam when he wanted the help and leaving him be when he didn't, wandering the bunker and trying to distract himself with all the junk there was packed away.

He didn't need to hold the First Blade, he was stronger than that, than the urges. He wasn't a monster. He wouldn't let this make him one.

Meg had been a real bitch but in the end, she'd helped them a lot and he knew they owed the demon bitch. If she could fight this nature, so could he.

Dean fucking Winchester was no one's bitch.

He polished all the cars in the garage, tuning and working on engines and losing himself to this normalcy, happy to see some of Sam's worry and disappoint leaving his eyes. They'd be okay.

He was finishing up waxing his Baby when it happened. He'd popped the trunk to maybe finally reorganized and clean the damn thing out, lifting the false bottom and diving in.

But when he tried to dump out an armful of crap, he found that he couldn't. He arms stung, the hair on them getting a little singed as he struggled a few minutes before remembering the devil's trap on the hood.

Now was not the time to re-test his powers against the sigils, he couldn't hurt his Baby!

He watched like a hawk as Sam carefully scraped the paint to let him get his damn arms outta the trunk, making him fix the trap. Guess him having a clean and organized trunk wasn't meant to be, and hey, this was a great excuse now to get Sam off his back.


	13. It's All Fun and Games

With his new resolve to not give in to the temptation of the First Blade, Dean found himself more bored than ever.

He wasn't like Sam, he could only read for so long before zoning out and daydreaming about sex and blood and violence and killing, just one, he just needed...

No. He tried to keep busy to avoid those thoughts, the pride in Sammy's eyes helping a bit, giving him strength.

And he found that the cramping pain in his gut was eased when he practiced... other demonic abilities.

Dean learned how to channel his violent need, at first just making the furniture rock a bit, but soon he could make a chair levitate if he really, really concentrated. He used telekinesis practice to entertain himself, and it helped pass the time.

He rearranged his room with his mind.

He slammed practice dummies along the walls and ceilings.

He cooked breakfast for Sam without even being in the kitchen.

He gave himself a nice, long massage in the shower, nggh...

He pulled chairs out for Sam, yanking them away at the last second so Sam fell on his ass. He closed doors randomly, made pages flip and pens jump, until Sam wasn't laughing with him anymore and was getting annoyed, which of course only made Dean want to tease him more.

Until his little brother got fed up and filled a spritz bottle with holy water, like he was some kind of dog to tame!

It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt, as the saying goes. After a few patches of burning skin, Dean stopped pranking Sam as much, though he did have fun exploding that stupid bottle right on his brother's lap.


End file.
